Seeing Things
by thestubb
Summary: Steris and Wayne have a chat about the most important person to both of them. **Extreme spoilers for Bands of Mourning ending** One-Shot. T for language.


There is no purpose to this save that I enjoy copious emotional angst for all my favorite characters, and I missed a scene like this. Take that as you will.

oOoOo

Steris cast a quick glance across the clearing, finally alighting on on they prey she'd been searching for. Wayne's hunched figure sat on a conveniently placed log, his dueling canes in his lap along with a knapsack, contents splayed around him as he pretended to rummage around inside. However, his movements were slow, only speeding up when someone walked past, and otherwise he sat and stared ahead. His eyes were tired.

The shotgun still sat by his feet.

She cleared her throat and made her footsteps intentionally louder than necessary as she neared, not wanting to disturb him from his thoughts. His head snapped up and he busied himself again, not meeting her eyes as she approached. His eyes flicked to the corners of his sight as she came closer, but only when she stood directly in front of him did he manage to lift his head and give a cursory nod. Exhaling mentally, she sat on the log next to him, tucking in her skirts, and extended the white washcloth in her hand. "Here."

Wayne's brow furrowed as he stared at the washcloth.

Steris tried not to sigh. "For your face."

"'S just dirt," Wayne protested, resuming his rummaging and looking away.

"No it isn't," Steris said gently, motioning to her cheek and forehead to mime the grotesque crimson pattern spattering his face. Wayne raised a hand to his forehead, fingers scratching at the unfamiliar texture there and scraping it with his fingernails. Red stained the undersides of his nails when he pulled them away.

He swallowed hard, his face blanching half a shade paler, and he took the washcloth from her. The damp fabric would have taken care of the blood with a few forceful passes, but Wayne's skin was pink and raw by the time he took it off. "Thanks," he said, holding the cloth in his hand like he wasn't sure whether to pass it back or not.

Steris resisted the urge to smile at the pink, clean patches sparesly contrasting with the grime and mess on the rest of his face, but chose to let it pass as she gracefully took the washcloth. Instead of leaving, however, she stayed where she was and tried to recall the words she had already memorized.

Wayne half-heartedly resumed pawing through the knapsack without looking at her, clearly expecting her to leave him in relative peace. When she didn't after a few moments, however, his movements slowed and he turned towards her once more. "Can I help you?" he questioned.

Steris folded her hands, threading her fingers between each other before opening her mouth carefully. "That must have been quite difficult for you," she stated.

Wayne's eyebrows popped up. "…What, this?" he asked, kicking the shotgun with his ankle. "Nah, that's—nah, not any—not anymore."

"No," Steris answered, shaking her head. "Being…with Lord Waximillium. When he…" She steadied her breath, clutching her fingers so tightly the knuckles turned white. "When he died."

Wayne's face melted into stone. His eyes darkened, his mouth slipping into a line devoid of any expression. His normally expressionistic countenance, betraying any and all emotion passing through his energetic head, became a stony mask through which nothing but the heavyset eyebrows and red, weary eyes betrayed the fact he had nearly had his world ripped away from him hours earlier. "S'pose so," he said carefully.

"I don't mean to bring up a…painful subject," Steris said. "Believe me, it is not something I'd like to relive ever again." Wayne scoffed under his breath, and Steris once again felt his rejection bite into her chest. Steeling herself, she continued. "I only mention it because I'd like to thank you."

"Yeah, well, I wasn't the one what brought 'im back," Wayne said shortly. "Go talk to Marasi about that one."

"I'm actually talking about when he died," Steris said.

The only betrayal of Wayne's hot emotions was the careful clenching of his fist, and the way he had to draw in a short breath before turning to her. "Whaddaya mean?"

"Much as external appearances may betray me at times, I do believe you are the only person on this earth that cares about Lord Waximillium more than I," Steris said gently.

The mask started to slip.

"And, much as I do wish I had been there to, um, help him," she said, pausing to inhale as her throat tightened and her voice grew thin—number thirty-three on her list of how to not cry during an emotionally taxing time— "you are, by far, the only other person I trust to be with him. At the end. Like that."

Wayne swallowed hard, his eyes wide, wet and unblinking as he stared at her.

Steris cleared her throat slightly and looked at the ground. Decorum dictated that one should look at the person to who one is speaking, but if she looked in those eyes at this current second she'd relive the horrible last few hours in her mind all over again, and she wasn't sure she could deal with that at this current time. "And, I know it must have been truly difficult to have to sit with him. And, and _watch_ it happen. But I'm glad to know he had someone. Someone being…you." She managed to tear her eyes away from the snow and looked up once more, done with her speech.

Wayne's dark eyes were tortured, swimming in agonized tears. His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, his chin trembling as he tried to reign in the emotions storming at his chest. He opened his mouth to say something, but all that came out was a shaky breath and he closed it again.

Steris reached out and tentatively placed a hand on his arm. "Thank you."

A tear escaped and rolled down his cheek, digging a track through the grime pasted on it. Wayne angrily swiped it away with the heel of his palm, scowling through the tears because that was all he knew how to do. "I don't think—" He stopped and swallowed shakily. "I hated him. For dyin' on me."

Steris nodded.

"Hated 'im. If he weren't dead already I'd'a shot 'im then and there." He sniffed and passed a hand under his nose. "So I took out his bitch of a sister instead. Still didn't make it better." He exhaled heavily and slumped, staring in front of him like he could see the scene in front of him. "I seen some shit, but that were the worst thing I've ever seen." Digging the palms of his hands into his eyes as if to press away the bad memories, he whispered, "Do you think I'll ever forget all that?"

Steris hesitated a moment. "No, I don't believe so."

Wayne took a savage, shaky breath without taking away his hands.

"But neither will he. And neither will I. And he is back. And you—" she bit her tongue for a half second "—you shot his bitch of a sister."

Wayne let out a watery laugh and released his eyes, staring at his hands for a second before looking at her once more. "How about that."

"Thank you, Wayne," Steris said with all the sincerity she possessed in her being.

"Thanks, Steris," Wayne whispered, and she had the feeling he felt the same. She squeezed his arm and stood, brushing off her skirts from the dirt and snow on the log. She shivered and rubbed her arms, casting a look about. She smiled as her betrothed appeared, something about him new and radiant. It took him a second for him to register her, but his face softened when he saw her and he immediately approached.

"What did you find, Wayne?" he questioned, looping an arm around Steris's lower back. She knew he was keenly aware of the sudden absence of blood on Wayne's face.

Wayne shrugged and looked down. "Some bloke's knapsack. He's dead, I don't even hafta' trade him." He looked back up and mustered a characteristic grin.

Wax scoffed fondly. "What have you been up to?" he directed towards her.

Steris cast a look at Wayne, meeting his eyes carefully. "Nothing," she said airily. "Just catching up."

oOoOo


End file.
